How to Change Your Mind
by BiteTheNextLeft
Summary: Sherlock decides to reveal himself to John two years after his fall. Johnlock.
1. Found You

**A/N: I decided to attempt a Johnlock fic. I've never written anything like this before, so let me know what you think!**

Sherlock waits. He tries to remain still, but his body craves to fidget. He leans up against a brick archway in front of the twisting stairs leading to John's own flat, hoping the urge will subside.

Sherlock hadn't been surprised when John moved out of 221B nine days after the fall, but it still left a strange feeling of emptiness to resonate inside of his chest. He had obviously watched John ever since he faked his death, and kept close tabs on the doctor. Many times, he had come close to revealing himself, almost unable to bear the sight of his very best friend breaking down into tears during the late and random watches of the night. Sherlock's disappearance was necessary, but he couldn't keep himself hidden from his best friend any longer. The previous day, he had decided suddenly that he would reveal himself, and he would do it as soon as possible.

Now, he begins to count down, attempting to prepare himself for the moment when John will turn the street corner and see him for the first time in two years. Earlier, the detective watched the doctor enter a café some mile and half away from the flat, and precisely calculated the time it would take for John to make it back to his apartment. Sherlock took off from his hiding place the moment he saw John make a move to leave, and performed the equations and algorithms in his head as he jogged along the pavement. He arrived at John's flat three minutes and twenty-two seconds ago, and has been trying to keep his breathing in check.

Sherlock's internal clock buzzes at him suddenly as he realizes that only fifty-two seconds remain until John sees him. The detective has calculated John's steps perfectly, estimating that he is perhaps a block and a half away. He takes a deep breath, and watches the corner of the street. Time is passing too slowly, and Sherlock's heart begins to do small and frightened jumps in his chest.

"_What_ _will_ _John_ _do_?" Sherlock thinks to himself. "_Punch_ _me_, _most_ _likely_." He decides. He takes a deep breath and imagines John's fist coming into contact with his left cheekbone.

Forty seconds.

Sherlock shuffles, feeling his breath begin to come a little more quickly than he wants.

Thirty seconds.

Sherlock's feet are tapping furiously against the pavement, and the urge to run is almost overwhelming. But he is glued in place.

Twenty seconds.

Sherlock is sweating. Almost gasping.

Ten seconds.

He can hear footsteps coming from around the corner. Footsteps getting closer and closer, louder and louder.

He wipes the sweat from his forehead and takes the deepest breath he's ever taken.

Sherlock closes his eyes. The footsteps halt abruptly.

His eyes open, and John Watson- _beautiful_, _wonderful_, _insolent_, _ignorant_ _John Watson_ is standing twenty yards away from him, eyes wide, and frozen in place. The doctor's mouth drops open, and he's staring. Sherlock is at a loss for what to do. For some reason, the detective smiles. He lets his hand fly up in a single wave, and in the complete silence, he speaks.

"Helloo."

**Continue? PLEASE, let me know! I would certainly bake you cookies. The good kind. *wink***


	2. Almost a Good Start

**A/N: I got some very kind feedback from the first chapter, so I decided to post the second. Cookies should be coming your way, you kind folk. Your reviews are like golden dragon eggs, my friends. So in other words, keep them coming. Enjoy!**

John's mouth closes incredulously, his expression turning into something Sherlock has never seen before. Then, the doctor begins to walk. Quickly.

He's jogging, then running, and now sprinting. Sherlock braces himself, waiting for the blow to come.

But without warning, the consulting detective is abruptly yanked down into a tight hug by his shorter flat mate. Initially, Sherlock stiffens, taken aback by unpredicted action. He is then alarmed by the sudden flow of warmth that begins to spread from the tips of his toes to the crown of his head. But once the sensation settles in his limbs, he hesitantly relaxes, still waiting for the fist to come flying up.

But it doesn't come.

Sherlock feels an uninvited grin tugging at the corner of his lips, and he allows his arms to finally squeeze around John's back.

The two men stand in a blatant embrace, neither of the two indicating that they should break apart anytime soon. The longer John's arms remain fastened about Sherlock's neck, the warmer the detective becomes. His heart contracts haphazardly when he hears several small sniffs from his flat mate. Sherlock's grip tightens without permission, a small chuckle escaping his lips as a sensation of blunt fondness settles in the core of his chest.

Sherlock's eye then catches something glittering on his own coat sleeve. He turns his face to examine it more closely, and his gaze falls on a single teardrop. It clings to the surface of his jacket, shimmering faintly. The detective gingerly places several fingertips on his own cheek to discover a light wetness chilled by the winter air. Sherlock grins widely before brushing the tears off of his face.

He moves his hands to John's shoulders and pulls back a little from the embrace. The doctor moves his face to look at Sherlock, battling to keep all of his emotions from revealing themselves. But Sherlock can see them all, as expected, admiring the way John's eyebrows furrow nervously and how his eyes are slightly reddened. The detective's features remain soft, silently assuring John that everything will be fine now.

But his eyes narrow carefully, barely concealing suspicion when John's hand moves to hold the back of his neck firmly. John's gaze searches Sherlock's face adamantly, and the detective can feel his defenses rising up again. Grey and green eyes battle fiercely for what seems like an eternity as a thick and magnetic tension flares up in the chilly air around them.

"John…" Sherlock warns dangerously, but makes no move to stop his flat mate from coming a little closer. Their breaths mingle together in the miniscule distance between their faces, and Sherlock can't help but stare back at John inquisitively. A look of finality moves across the shorter man's features. Sherlock's eyes widen. He barely forces the first syllable of John's name out of his mouth before he is abruptly silenced.

A small and muffled noise of surprise escapes Sherlock and his eyes dart about. He blinks several times before slamming his eyes shut, trying to avoid any reaction to John's kiss. But his flat mate's lips are so warm despite the frigid air around them… Sherlock yearns to lean down further into John. But instead, he composes his face, hoping he doesn't look too shaken, and pulls back quickly. The sound of their lips breaking apart feels like an unexpected gunshot, violently shaking the silence around them. Sherlock is still holding onto John's shoulders however, not quite trusting his legs to fully support him.

"John." Sherlock's voice cracks slightly. He means for his eyes to harden, but they don't. "I can't."

"Can't? Can't what?" John demands quietly.

"I can't, I- I just… can't." Sherlock's baritone is lower, barely audible. John's eyes scan the taller man's face for several moments before they widen, then flicker into something else. His hand flees from Sherlock's neck. He looks down and inhales sharply.

"_Oh_. Oh god. I'm so- oh my god. I can't believe I actually- oh wow. Oh no."

"John, what's the matter?" Sherlock asks quickly, his eyes darting about John's features. His hands are still on his flat mate's shoulders.

"I- um, you don't… Oh no."

"_John_," Sherlock demands. He doesn't like not being in the loop, and his heart is terrified that he's missing something important.

"You… you- don't care for me. And I- I…" John trails off, looking everywhere except in front of him. Sherlock shakes John.

"What are you talking about, you idiot, of course I care for you!"

"No, you big oaf!" He shakes the detective's grip. "CARE for me!" Sherlock raises an eyebrow impatiently. John stares back at him, his eyes trying to emphasize the obvious point. John huffs with irritation.

"You know, never mind. Just never mind, YOU MACHINE." John turns to walk up to his flat. Sherlock becomes frantic.

"John!" He takes his flat mate's shoulder again and whips him around. He studies John's face and notices the red hue staining his cheeks. "_Oh_," Sherlock breathes.

"Yeah. Now, please, let me go back to my own flat so I can retain whatever dignity I have left." Sherlock holds him firmly in place.

"You think I don't care for you."

"Yes, I've already said that. Please let go, this is torture enough, I don't need you deducing me."

"Because I pulled back from you, you immediately jumped to the conclusion that I don't return your sentiment."

"Sherlock, stop." The detective's voice speeds up.

"You assumed that I pulled away because of a lack of mutual sympathy, not because of any other reason, and now you're embarrassed. Embarrassed? Why?"

"Sherlock-"

"Your heart. Your heart stays inside of you, locked away because you're afraid, afraid to reveal any emotion-"

"Sh-"

"because you've had your share, you've had your share of fear and loss and pain and war, the bloody war that stole every single bit, every drop of innocence and trust. Always the soldier, _always_ the soldier-"

"SHERLOCK!" The detective halts. His breath fills the silence as he comes out of his deducing state.

"John, I-"

"Yep, I've had enough. Here I was, thinking you coming back would mean that something would've changed, but no. Now that I've been properly humiliated, I'm going to go to my flat. ALONE," He tacks on forcefully when Sherlock attempts to follow him.

"Forgive me," Sherlock demands shortly. John only lets out a short, sarcastic laugh. The shorter man continues up the stairs to his flat with Sherlock on his heels. "John, listen. I don't know WHY you think I don't care about you, because it's blatantly obvious given all of the things we've been through, and all the trouble I go through, and John are you even listening to me? John!" The door slams abruptly in the taller man's face. The detective looks down in frustration. He then shouts through the door, trying to imagine John somewhere close on the other side.

"I will prove to you that I care for you!" No response. "John? John!" He hears tumblers click harshly into place close to his ear. "_Damn it_," he whispers. "I _will_ prove it!" Sherlock turns to trudge down the stairway, more determined than ever, to change the doctor's mind.

**So. I'm thinking cookies in exchange for golden dragon eggs. Sounds like a lopsided trade, but it's really not. These are the best damn cookies I've ever baked. **


End file.
